


This Girl I Knew

by Hornswaggler



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint has problems with authority, F/M, Gen, Headcanon everywhere, pre-avengers, vaguely implied clintasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornswaggler/pseuds/Hornswaggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint discovers that even Coulson sometimes gets bored while waiting, and the conversation takes a turn he wasn't really expecting. Not like he'll ever pass up an opportunity to talk about Natasha, of course. </p><p>One-shot, set before Black Widow was 'recruited' for SHIELD. Implied Clintasha</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Girl I Knew

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to transfer fics over, hurray!  
> As said, this is set before Natasha joined SHIELD, and very shortly after Clint did. It's filled with headcanon that stems from some weird mixture of comic and MCU canon. A little dialogue heavy, focusing more on Clint and Coulson as agent and handler than Natasha.

_“Are you in the clear, Barton?”_

“All clear. Wilson is in; the target’s sitting at his usual table. Nobody up here but us chickens.” He paused a moment as if to consider the statement before remedying it. “Well, some pigeons and a hawk, right?”

_“Focus on the window, Barton. Eyes sharp.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got ‘im.” Clint let out a breath, settling into his position and reaching up to adjust the tripod a little. He didn’t much like using rifles if he could get away with it, but Coulson had insisted he ‘branch out’ a little and the archer’s usual weapon had been put aside while he learned the various long-range weapons SHIELD provided regularly. Apparently he was the first professional archer the organization had seen and they were working on getting some decent bows in the gear room. So they told him, of course. Clint could tell that half of the agents were still just waiting to see him quit or snap and turn on them. It hadn’t been six months yet since he had been ‘sworn in’ or whatever they called it and given an official handler. There were very few other agents that trusted him yet – not that he could blame them.

The earpiece he had in crackled and he put a hand to it impulsively. Coulson was always quiet on jobs like this. There was no telling what he did while Clint was perched up on the roof practically baking in the SHIELD-issued uniform. The jacket was annoying – protective, but the sleeves got in the way. He’d have to ask someone about modifying that.

“You got a wife or something, Phil?” It was silent for a few moments and he was starting to wonder if he’d just be ignored before his handler spoke up, his voice completely nonchalant as usual.

_“That’s ‘sir’, remember?”_

“Yeah, sure. You avoiding the question?”

 _“What does this have to do with the mission?”_ Clint grinned, giving a slight shrug that he realized a moment later couldn’t be seen.

“You keep telling me to get to know people here. Good a start as any, right?” He could imagine the older man’s face; a very slight, polite smile, dark eyes being the only real clue into what he was actually thinking.

_“No, no wife.”_

“Girlfriend?”

 _“I have a bit of a demanding job.”_ The archer chuckled, pausing as Wilson gestured at something through the window. Not one of the set warning signs. Still clear. It was silent again before, surprisingly, Coulson broke it. _“What about you?”_

“What about me?”

_“You’ve been here eight months and we only know the bare facts about you.”_

“I don’t exactly like sharing myself with a bunch of strangers, Phil.”

 _“’Sir’,”_ he was corrected automatically. _“I don’t think I’m allowed to be a stranger, Clint. Fury said I’m stuck with you.”_

“Is that a joke, Agent Coulson? I didn’t know you knew how.”

_“Are you avoiding the question?”_

Clint hesitated a moment before giving a rather dramatic sigh, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“What question would that be?”

 _“Any girl for the legendary archer?”_ It was rare to hear Coulson discuss anything but work and rather ironic that he would start in the middle of a job. Clint vaguely wondered if this was some sort of test, seeing if he could keep his focus on the target while have some other distraction in one ear. If it was, he was determined to pass with flying colors.

“Nothing serious. Traveled a lot, you know?”

_“Having been part of the team tracking you down, I’m well aware.”_

“Before that, even. We didn’t stay in one town more than a week, two if the business was really good. Only girls I saw on a regular basis were performers or the make-up artists.” The paranoid part of his mind started nagging him, saying that was more than enough information and to leave it at that. There was something about Coulson, though, that just made him incredibly easy to trust. Low voice, an easy smile, and – to the agents – perfectly willing to sacrifice himself in a heartbeat if it would help the organization. Besides, he _was_ stuck with the guy as a handler for who knew how long. “There was one, though…”

 _“Make-up artist?”_ The memory of Diane, the woman who had been stuck with him before shows, flashed across the man’s mind and he let out a quick snort of laughter.

“Hell no. No, after I left. Met her on the road and we sort of…” _stole, sabotaged, sometimes killed,_ “traveled together for a bit.” The memories again made him pause and the well-trained part of his brain forced itself to keep paying attention to the exchange so many floors below. They were pretty damn strong memories, though; bright red hair, a charming smile that he could see right through, piercing green eyes that he would have sworn could read his motives like a book, and small hands capable of killing a full grown man without a single weapon.

 _“How long?”_ Clint considered that question a moment. He couldn’t straight-out lie to a man like Coulson. For one, the agent would see right through it. Anyway, it seemed a little warped to be working on trusting someone by lying to them.

“Few years, I think. Off and on, really; she had her own stuff to do sometimes, but we would meet back up eventually.” A thought struck him and the archer smirked a little. “Don’t bother with a background check, Phil. You’re not going to track her down.” He could hear a soft scoff on the other end and could picture the quick eye roll.

_“You’d be surprised who we can track down. And it’s –”_

“Sir, yeah, got it.”

He seemed extremely insistent on that point which, of course, made Clint all the more determined to ‘forget’ at every opportunity. It was a little funny, really, watching everyone try so hard to turn him into a good little SHIELD agent; following protocol, filling out paperwork, respecting the higher-ups…They may have him, legally and practically, but hell if he was about to let them have him completely.

 _“I’ve got enough of a background check on you, anyway,”_ the agent continued. _“Doubtful one person could change your profile drastically.”_ Clint barely held back a snort at that. _You don’t even know…_

“So why are you asking?”

 _“Like I said, I’m pretty much stuck with you, Barton.”_ It was difficult to tell when he used that tone whether or not he was being sarcastic. The archer decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. _“I like to know the people I’m training.”_  

It went silent again. Clint took a mental note of Wilson’s posture down below; he had sat back in his seat, arms folded, and a polite smile in place. Seemed to be going well. Somehow the other end of the comm seemed almost expectant. He wasn’t really sure how he could determine that from silence and the occasional buzz, but all the same…

“So what’s that entail?” There was a very short pause before the answer, which he imagined was a shrug.

 _“Seems we already have a point of interest. Tell me about her.”_ Well, he hadn’t exactly been expecting that one… _“You can learn a lot about someone by who they associate with. You know that as well as I do.”_ Who they associate with…A grim smile flashed over the archer’s face at that. Associating with Natasha…what exactly did that say about him?

“She was…” _dangerous, manipulative, deadly,_ “beautiful. This bright red hair, green eyes…small enough that every man would underestimate her. Always turned out to be their undoing.” He heard a soft scoff on the other end and smirked again. If only Coulson knew how literal that statement was. “Damn brilliant, too. It was near impossible to ever actually tell what she was planning –”

 _“Sit rep, Barton.”_ His mind clicked automatically back to the scope, the scene below, and the man rattled off the stats like it was all he had been talking about the whole time.

“Wilson and Hill haven’t moved – Wilson is looking pretty satisfied, so I’d expect it’s going well. Older couple sat down two tables away, and the waitress keeps staring at Wilson like he’s a new monument.”

_“Does she suspect anything?”_

“Nah, I know that look. We’re clear.”

 _“Good.”_ There was an underlying ‘nice work’ that Clint could hear, and that was rare enough. The agent wasn’t much for flippant praise, but Clint could still tell when it was implied. Once again, silence fell over the rooftop and he was more than a little surprised when Coulson broke it. _“Well?”_

“You get me going, you’re not going to get me to stop, Phil,” the archer warned with a grin, and he was immensely satisfied to hear a quiet chuckled.

 _“We’ve got a while. Wilson still has to make the file transfer once this is done.”_ After a pause, he added almost absently, _“And it’s ‘sir’.”_

“Yeah, I know. You’re alright, you know that, Phil?”

_“Barton…”_

“Fine, fine, _sir_.” He settled a little more comfortably onto the cement and flexed his right hand briefly before diving right back in again. “She liked to dance, I think, but never when she thought anyone was watching. Shame, too; I don’t know a thing about dancing, but she seemed good…”

 

* * *

 

“Barton, what the _hell_ was that?” Clint swallowed, allowing himself a slight hesitation before he turned around to face his handler. He had seen the other man angry maybe once before; it was rare for that polite exterior to ever fall, and when the resulting anger was directed at him…it was hard to believe a man like Coulson could look quite that intimidating.

“I’m sorry, sir.” He was already in enough trouble as it is. Wouldn’t hurt to do _something_ right and stick to formalities. “I gave you the updates, I couldn’t –”

“I don’t have to have worked with you this long to tell that’s a load of crap,” Coulson snapped. “You cannot honestly tell me that Hawkeye missed from a hundred-fifty yards – _three_ times.”

“Well she’s still alive, isn’t she?” _Tone down the sarcasm, Clint. Won’t help your case._ The older man seemed to be putting a good deal of effort into keeping himself mostly calm and he took a moment to close his eyes, hands clenching briefly.

“Obviously. That’s the problem right now. You told me yourself that you never learned how to miss. I’ve been watching you shoot for…hell even knows how long. Trick shots, impossible shots, and you’ve never missed a one. How the hell do you expect me to believe you missed the simplest shot in the world _three_ times?”

“I was just…” Clint paused before letting out a breath. Lying to Coulson had always been near impossible, and there was no way this one was going anywhere. “I’m going to ask Fury to give her a shot with SHIELD.” His handler didn’t even blink, but his gaze hardened slightly as if he had almost been expecting that answer and still didn’t like it.

“A shot with SHIELD?” he repeated, voice low. “Barton, you do know who exactly that is, don’t you?”

“Very well, sir,” Clint assured him, his arms folding tightly over his chest. There was still some blood on his hands, but he ignored that. “It’s because of that I know she deserves this. You know her record; she’s flawless with tracking, interrogations –”

“Murder,” Coulson cut in. “Assassinations. This is the Black Widow we’re dealing with, Barton, not just some home-grown criminal who needs to see the light.”

“So how are her murders wrong and ours are get complimented on a ‘job well done’?” His own voice was a low growl and he was satisfied to see the other agent hesitate a little and Clint jumped on the opportunity to continue. “Just because it’s different people getting killed, right? If she were with us, if she were going after the right people…”

“This is an entire organization we’re part of, you remember. I don’t get the impression she’s a team player.”

“Not a team, maybe, but a partner. She works excellent with a partner; always dependable, focused, on time for every cue…” The archer trailed off when he noticed the odd look he was getting and his mind finally caught up to what he had been saying. _Hell._

“She’s never worked with a partner when we’ve been tracking her,” Coulson reminded him. “How are you supposed to know that?” _Game’s up, Barton…_ He swallowed again, fists clenching as if that would prepare him better.

“I was…you remember that girl I was telling you about?” He could practically watch that sink in and see Coulson putting the pieces together. All the slightly vague descriptions, the way he never really said what they did together, never once mentioning her name…

“Hell, _Barton…_ ” The two words were a heavy sigh and his handler put one hand to face for a moment before running it over his thinning hair.

“That doesn’t mean anything I said before isn’t true,” Clint cut in quickly. “Yeah, we have some history together, but I think that just makes me all the more qualified to know what she’s like. I _know_ she deserves this.” It fell silent between them and the younger man watched Coulson carefully, looking for any sign of…anything in his expression. After a long pause he chanced speaking up again. “You gave me a second chance, sir. Just because my body count was lower doesn’t mean I was any better than she was. She deserves the same chance I got.” The agent took so long to say anything, Clint was half worried he wouldn’t reply at all. After a while, though, he sighed again, glancing around them.

“Every time you put yourself on the line like this, you’re putting me on the line too, Barton. I hope you remember that.”

“I do, sir, and I swear I wouldn’t be trying if I weren’t sure.” Clint forced his arms to his sides and let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. “The director decides, of course, but I have to try.”

“You know how risky even keeping her alive is?” He looked over one shoulder toward the medics and the stretcher, complete with secure straps holding its occupant down while they worked on the wounds.

“I know; I just need…why should I get a second chance and then turn around and deny that to someone who deserves it as much as I do?” Coulson watched him a few more moments before shaking his head.

“This won’t be without consequences – I hope you know that.”

“I had guessed as much.” Clint manage to hold the dark gaze until his handler turned away again, his voice rising to a near bark.

“Hardison!” The named agent looked around, striding to meet Coulson quickly. He had to be one of the higher-ranking men there, just judging by his demeanor and the way he glanced over Clint with undisguised skepticism, but the archer wasn’t sure _anyone_ outranked Coulson other than Fury and Hill.

“I hope you know what’s going on here, sir,” the man muttered. “If I wasn’t mistaken, Widow was supposed to be dead, not being looked at by medics.” Clint could hear the underlying words there easily: _why’d the archer screw up?_

“There’s been a change of plans.” It was hard to believe Coulson had been arguing against this point not a minute earlier. “Romanoff is being brought back to base for treatment and appraisal.” There was a short stunned silence and Hardison's eyes widened.

“Appraisal? What the hell do you want an appraisal for?”

“That’s between myself and the director, thank you.” Coulson nodded over at the unconscious woman briskly, his arms folding in what most people would take as a rather casual position. “You’re in charge of the guard. Twenty-four-seven, at least four of you at all times.” Hardison blinked once, his look of surprise turning into a frown.

“Sir, this is the Black Widow we’re talking about. I’m not sure –”

“If you’re afraid of her, feel free to add four more. She’s been shot twice, lost a hell of a lot of blood, and will be surrounded by the organization that finally managed to track her down. You really think she’s going to best you?” The agent didn’t bother replying to that; his eyes darted between Coulson and Clint before letting out a breath and shook his head once. “Good. Get the guards and take the plane back with the medical crew. Romanoff doesn’t leave the room and no one but me or Fury enters it. Got that?” Once he got a quick nod Coulson turned away again, starting off toward one of the small groups that taking various notes on everything.

Clint hesitated a split second before calling after him.

“Thank you, sir.”

The older man barely paused, glancing over his shoulder once, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t make me regret it, Barton.”


End file.
